Butterflies
by ficscribbler
Summary: Roxton and Marguerite find an incredible place when they follow butterflies, but can they find their way back out again?


**Butterflies**

Summary: _Roxton and Marguerite find an incredible place when they follow butterflies, but can they find their way back out again?_

Disclaimer: _The Lost World does not belong to me. *sigh* It belongs to New Line Television, the Over the Hill Gang, et al, …_

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"Now, I am definitely NOT happy about this!"

_"Happy about this . . ."_

_"Happy about this . . ."_

_"Happy about this . . ."_

The echo continued, finally dying away in the distance further within the caves.

Marguerite couldn't help grinning, her green-gray eyes dancing.

Lord John Roxton glared at her in the flickering torchlight. "I fail to see the humor in this!" he hissed at her.

She quickly suppressed her smile, and agreed meekly, "Of course not, John."

"Oh, just shut up and FIX IT!" he snarled, voice rising in irritation.

_"FIX IT!"_

_"FIX IT!"_

_"FIX IT!"_

The echo continued until it faded again in the distance.

The former heiress wisely made no comment, choosing instead to kneel at the hunter's side as she drew a small cloth pouch from her pocket. She extracted a needle and thread, and began to baste together the edges of the fresh tear in his trousers . . . the ones that, until just now, had been his last undamaged pair of pants.

Roxton waited impatiently, tapping one booted foot on the dusty rock floor, fully expecting her to stick him with that needle at any moment. He held the torch lower, closer to his thigh so she would have a bit brighter light to mend the tear, but high enough not to singe Marguerite's thick wavy hair.

Marguerite worked swiftly and deftly, and very carefully avoided jabbing the irritated nobleman. She also kept her eyes down to hide her ongoing mirth.

He really hadn't wanted to come in here with her. He didn't like digging for gems, or searching for gold - or any other precious metal, for that matter - or spending hours deciphering writings in a long forgotten language found on some cave wall.

No, the tall, lean, broad-shouldered hunter preferred the out doors, the fresh air and sunshine, or starlight, surrounded by nature and free to roam.

But he had promised Marguerite, and he was a man of his word. He had patiently born with her explorations, even when he banged his head on the stalactites, and chiseled his hand instead of a rock formation she wanted a sample of. And now he had torn his last pair of unmarred pants on a jagged edge of rock boulder in the tunnel they were following back out of this particular cave.

He'd been such a good sport, until now, that Marguerite decided it was probably best not to push her luck any further. She wouldn't ask him to do any more exploring today. In fact, it would probably be a good move on her part to find a way to let him do a little successful flirting on the way back to the treehouse, to make up for his loss.

Especially since their little romantic evening camping outside the caves last night, after hiking here yesterday afternoon, had ended with the two of them neck deep in the nearby stream to avoid a swarm of very pesky insects that had infested their lovely, carefully chosen camp site. Even their campfire dinner had been cut short by the insidious insects. They'd spent the night in the water; the insects hadn't departed until near daylight, when John and Marguerite had been too tired and chilled to do anything but dry off and fall into their blankets for a couple hours sleep.

Yes, poor John was due some kind of reward, she decided.

Marguerite finished up with a few extra stitches on the ends of the tear, to ensure that it didn't spread before she could do a proper job on it back home. With a practiced twist of her wrist, she snapped the thread cleanly and straightened up gracefully. "There. Almost good as new, John," she assured him, schooling her expression before meeting his eyes. Demurely serene, she tucked the little pouch back into her pocket.

He could sense the laughter that still lurked, but couldn't see it in her thick-lashed green eyes. He grimaced at her. "Good! Let's get out of this hole before something else hap -"

The sudden rush of wings cut off his words.

They both ducked, Roxton shielding Marguerite's head and shoulders with his own, as dozens of pairs of wings flapped around them . . . a cloud of sudden vibrant color coming from the entrance, and headed deeper into the cave the way the explorers had just come. They both looked up cautiously as the phenomenon continued.

Butterflies?!

They exchanged an amazed look, then straightened up again as the last wings fluttered past. Without a word of consultation, they simultaneously turned back and followed the rainbow colored mass with unabridged curiosity.

The beautiful creatures turned down into a passage that had seemed too small to bother with earlier. It snaked narrowly into blackness, and the butterflies were soon out of sight.

John shifted his rifle further back over his shoulder and bowed to Marguerite with a wave of his hand. "Ladies first," he invited lightly.

She inclined her head with a grin. "So kind of you, milord," she acknowledged graciously, and accepted the torch as she stepped into the passage.

John had a little trouble, having to turn his broad shoulders sideways to manage the narrow twists and turns that Marguerite had no trouble slipping through, though even she found it close in a couple places.

She stayed with him instead of forging ahead, he noticed as she waited for him to squeeze through a particularly narrow spot; she'd been doing this all the time lately, and although he was glad to think she wanted his company, he didn't think that was the sole reason. He hadn't said anything, not certain how to approach it and not wanting to cause her to shy away again. "Okay, I'm good," he nodded as soon as he could straighten again.

The petite brunette nodded and moved ahead again. The tunnel had an uphill incline to it, and after a while they began to see light ahead. It grew brighter and brighter. Marguerite paused, and glanced over her shoulder at John. "Daylight?"

John shrugged, taking a look at the torch. "If there's an exit up there, it's not affecting air flow down here. It's not touching the flame."

She followed his gaze to the normal burning of the torch, and agreed. "What could it be, then?"

"Let's find out. Go ahead, I'm right behind you," he said simply, reassuringly, as she hesitated.

Marguerite nodded again, and continued toward the light, careful to wait for him whenever the passage tightened up again. They had previous experience with light in caves, and she didn't want to be too far ahead, just in case something weird, plateau-style, should occur again.

The passage leveled out just before it curved into the last twist before the light. Marguerite stepped around the corner and her footsteps stopped; he heard her gasp. Roxton's pulse quickened and he worriedly squeezed around the bend – and bumped right into her.

But Marguerite didn't seem to notice. She just stood there and stared ahead.

He gazed past her and immediately realized what had her entranced.

It wasn't sunlight creating the bright light. It was gem stones - thousands of them!

The passage opened into a cavern, the walls of which were literally covered with glowing gems of all sizes and colors. The light seemed to emanate from them, combining the different colors into a day-bright light, while the walls themselves shimmered with vibrant color.

Roxton winced, turning his eyes from the walls to look at Marguerite. Naturally, the sight of so much richness had the brunette totally enraptured. He groaned to himself with the sinking feeling that they were going to be here for a really long time while she mined as much of this as he could carry! She'd never let this source of wealth and security out of her sight until she had every last piece they could reach. He sighed and started to go around her, trying to estimate the size of this "bank".

Marguerite grabbed his arm. "Don't!" she said, a little breathlessly, eyes still roaming the walls of the glittering cavern.

"What? Don't what?"

"Don't go in there." She dragged in a long slow breath and tore her gaze from the gems to focus on his face. "This isn't right."

His brows lifted in startled question.

"Well, look at it!" she gestured, without looking at it herself, and he had the sudden impression that the gutsy woman was scared about something. "This isn't natural, John. Different types of precious stone aren't formed side by side like this. Someone, or something, put these here. It's beautiful, but this is the Plateau, John. It's not right. Let's not go in there. Let's go home." She was already backing slowly toward the curve of the tunnel again, tugging on his arm.

Roxton resisted her effort to move him and looked at the bejeweled walls again, seeing her point. He scanned the floor of the cavern. Not a mark. Just the undisturbed dust of multiple years, probably multiple decades. He looked for other exits, but this passageway was the only one he could see.

Marguerite was still holding onto his arm. "John. The butterflies." Her voice was more urgent now, full of worry as she remembered the butterflies they had been following.

There were no butterflies in sight, and they could no longer hear the sound of wings.

John leaned forward without stepping into the cavern, and looked up.

There were no openings in the ceiling of the cavern, which was also covered in gems. Where had the butterflies gone?

"Let's go. Please?" She was once more pulling him back.

Roxton nodded, hand tightening on his rifle as he yielded. "Go ahead, I'm with you."

She didn't waste any time, but headed back down the incline, only tarrying enough to wait for John as he squeezed his shoulders through the tighter places again.

Suddenly he bumped into her. He automatically swung his rifle up into position. "What is it? Why did you stop?"

Marguerite lifted the torch and craned her neck to see back past him, then turned and looked forward again. "It's getting lighter up ahead, and we're on an upward incline. We should be going down, not up, and I don't remember this much light where we came into the passage." Her voice was tight and controlled. "We needed the torch to see, didn't we?"

"Yeah, we did. Here, let me go first." John deftly shouldered his rifle and began to slide through between Marguerite and the passage wall.

It was a difficult maneuver, getting past her in the narrow passageway, but it was not entirely without its rewards, he decided as he stopped to unhook her blouse from where it had snagged on his belt buckle. Marguerite sucked in her breath sharply as his hand moved between their bodies, and her green eyes widened as they lifted to meet his.

He stilled, grinned down at her, and teased, "Something wrong, Miss Krux?"

"N-no, not at all," she replied, defiantly denying the effect of the close contact with him.

But she shivered as his body continued to press against hers as he worked past her. It seemed to take forever for his lean body to finally separate from her soft curves, time slowing to a crawl.

John resolutely kept moving, despite his urge to stop right there and enjoy the tight fit. But he sighed a little at the loss of contact when he finally made it past Marguerite.

Once his body was no longer touching hers, she closed her eyes, drew a steadying breath, then turned to follow him toward the . . . well, toward what should be the main passage from which they had started.

They were definitely going uphill again, and the light got brighter. There was a final turn . . .

It was the gem-lit cavern.

"Now how did we get turned around?" John wondered. Maybe there was a second passage and they had gotten into it by mistake, not realizing there had been a branch off from the first one. "Let's try again." He turned back towards the dark passage behind them.

"You first, this time," she stated firmly, stepping aside.

John grinned. "Coward," he teased.

Her chin came up. "Cad," she retorted, though a smile tugged at her lips.

His grin widened as he took the torch from her. "Can't take a little fun?"

"Look who's talking; who was the one fussing over a little hole in his pants?" Marguerite fell into step behind him, and this time they checked the walls of the narrow passage more carefully as they descended.

There was no sign of another passage adjoining this one.

John stopped suddenly, and Marguerite bumped into him. "What?"

He motioned ahead with the torch. There was faint light ahead. They both looked behind them. Darkness. "It's starting to angle up again," he noted, carefully keeping the concern from his voice, then stepped forward again, still examining the walls for another way. But there was no other exit before they reached the last twist so near the glaring light. He stepped around the corner, bracing himself for anything.

It was the same gem cave again.

They exchanged an uneasy look.

Roxton knelt and drew his initials in the dirt. He straightened, gave the worried woman at his side a reassuring smile, and turned to head back down the passageway once more. "Let's try it one more time before we start to worry, okay?"

She followed him, keeping her right hand on his back this time.

The light behind them faded as they descended. Then the passageway rose to an incline once more, and the light ahead of them grew. John stepped around the last bend, Marguerite right on his heels with one hand resting lightly on his back. Grimly, he noted that his initials were in the dust at his feet.

"Well, my dear, it looks like we have no choice but to go in," he commented, keeping his tone light for Marguerite's sake, with a crooked grin down at her. "It was getting to be a dull day anyway." He unslung his rifle, holding it ready on his arm in preparation for stepping into the unusual cavern.

The dark-haired beauty unholstered her gun, too. "Oh, I don't know, John. I was content with the way things were." She summoned a smile for him, unlocked the safety and asked, "Ready?"

"Ready." Roxton took a couple careful steps into the cavern itself. "Feels solid," he said.

The slender woman slowly followed him, reaching forward with her left hand to touch his back lightly, her pistol ready in her right hand, green eyes alertly scanning the cavern as they proceeded further in, traversing the perimeter of the cavern.

The hunter moved forward one light step at a time, knowing she would match his pace, and that she would continue to keep one hand in contact with his body. She would use that connection to follow his movement while she faced backwards, guarding their rear.

They had positioned themselves like this often over the last three years, back to back or side by side to fight whatever threatened them at a given moment, and needed no words to know how to work in unison now, facing possible danger.

The floor stayed solid beneath their feet, and they made a circuit of the cavern without triggering any booby traps or finding any sign of danger. When Roxton reached the beginning of their footprints again, he stopped. "What do you say, my dear? Shall we go straight to the center this time, or keep circling in toward the center gradually?"

"Safety first, John, safety first," she replied with studied carelessness. "Let's circle in a little at a time."

Not at all fooled by her tone, he glanced over his shoulder and noticed that her knuckles were white on her pistol grip. "Marguerite," he said gently.

She raised her eyes to his, startled. "Yes?"

"It's okay." He smiled warmly at her. "We're together."

She swallowed, summoned an answering smile, and nodded slowly. "Yes," she agreed quietly, and her tension eased a little.

"That's my girl!" he grinned cheerfully, and started out again.

Marguerite followed, guarding the rear as before.

They left smaller and smaller circles of footprints on the dusty cavern floor until they reached the center, still without any sign of danger or any explanation of what was happening. In all that time, they heard no other sound than the ones they made themselves, and saw no movement, no change in the walls, ceiling or floor.

Marguerite leaned against John's back as he stopped thoughtfully in the center. She slowly holstered her pistol, lifted the canteen hanging from its strap at his side and took a long drink, recapping it and letting it drop back into place at his hip. "This is crazy," she finally said. "What is this place?"

Roxton shrugged without turning. He, too, felt tense, regardless of not having found anything to justify his worry… yet. "Want to try the passage again?"

"Sure; why not?"

They returned to the passageway - the only exit - and traversed it in silence. Down the incline . . . then up, back to the light. It still ended at the gem cavern.

Roxton cursed under his breath. It was definitely the same place. There were his initials, and their circles of footprints in the dust. "Okay. Let's check the walls."

Marguerite caught hold of his arm as he started forward, not yet ready to reenter the gemstone-lit grotto.

He stopped and looked down at her. "Are you all right?" he gently asked the slender brunette.

Her eyes were shadowed, and she hesitated a moment before she nodded. "I . . . I'm glad you're here. I wouldn't want to be stuck here alone." She managed yet another tentative smile, her gaze flitting up to meet his.

His irritation at the situation eased at her husky words. Marguerite didn't often say such things, so he reacted carefully in order to encourage her attempt at exposing her emotions to him. "I wouldn't want to be here alone, either," he agreed, enveloping her in a reassuring hug. His smile was warm, his eyes pleased as he embraced her. "But there's nothing we can't accomplish together, my dear. We just need to be patient. We'll figure out what's happening."

The shadowed look had vanished from her lovely eyes, he noted keenly as he released her. He brushed her dark curls away from her cheek with a gentle knuckle, and gave her a wink that made her smile more naturally. When he held out his hand, she placed her own small, delicate hand into his larger, callused hand without hesitation.

Roxton was inordinately pleased by the brief exchange.

She had been quiet lately, barely even complaining, seeming lost in thought much of the time. And not only lost in thought, but . . . somehow . . . just lost. So much had happened in the last few months. Much of her tough, independent façade had been ripped away by the coming and going of Veronica and Ned, her loss of the Ouroboros, finding Finn, the spurt of revelations about war time things . . .

A lot of Marguerite's confidence seemed to have vanished. Her normal abrasive and impatient persona was rarely in place these days. John found himself missing her complaints and her sharp tongue, her imperious demands, her arguments, and even her tantrums. While there were positives to this mood she was in - she did her chores without delay, and went along with whatever was suggested without fussing - he had also noticed that she was barely eating and had lost interest in reading. She didn't even spend time collecting or sorting through her gemstones, and hadn't once pestered him to accompany her to the pond for a swim.

Worst of all, she had stopped singing.

Though he had always half suspected that Marguerite sang as much to annoy her companions as to amuse herself, Roxton missed her off-key renditions of classic tunes and folk songs. He had grown accustomed - well, mostly, anyway - to her voice around the treehouse. And he missed it.

That was the main reason he had urged her to take a couple days to check out these caves Finn had found. When he'd seen a flicker of interest in her green eyes, he had encouraged her to explore them in the hopes of somehow helping her through this unexplained limbo she was experiencing. She had been uncertain until he promised to come along. That gesture had been worth it; by the time they had set a date, he had seen a glimmer of her old sparkle, and even a genuine smile.

When their excursion had started out so badly with the night in the chilly stream, thanks to those bothersome insects, she'd been abnormally accepting of their dilemma, and he'd worried that this had been a bad idea. But once they had actually reached the caves this morning, she'd blossomed into genuine excitement over each new possibility. Marguerite hadn't been dismayed by the fruitlessness of the exploration; instead, she'd delighted in the process despite not finding any sign of gems or ancient artifacts or even hieroglyphics of any sort. She'd been more animated than he'd seen her in quite a while, which made up for the fact that he'd been bored to tears.

And now this bloody gem cavern had them trapped somehow.

But Marguerite was talking to him, and she was clear-eyed and alert again, not just wandering listlessly along a half step behind him. So it was okay to be optimistic.

Now it was John who guarded their backs as Marguerite examined the walls. One hand still holding tight to his, her other hand skimmed across the wall with light, expert fingers. Her sharp eyes were dissecting, analyzing, carefully and thoroughly. She had pushed her hat back on her head so that she had a clearer field of vision. She chewed on her lower lip absently as she worked.

Only her continued grip on his hand revealed that she was not totally absorbed in studying the wall and its gems.

John divided his own attention between keeping an eye on the unchanging surroundings, to be sure they stayed that way, and his lady's progress. Finally, he asked curiously, "How did you learn about all these rocks and so many cultures and languages? Not just from reading books."

"No," she glanced sideways at him, then went on with her examination of the wall. "Actually, I went to Cairo with a teacher on an archeological dig during one summer break from boarding school."

Cairo! During boarding school, not Oxford, where he knew she had attended at one time. "So you were a school girl when you first met our trophy hunting friend, what's his name - Avery Burton?" he was surprised. "You must have made quite an impression on him for him to remember a school girl."

She never had told them the story of how her path had crossed that of the trophy hunter who had wanted to take Veronica back to Europe as a sideshow attraction. Veronica had heard the scoundrel call Marguerite "Miss Smith", he remembered. But they had never been able to coax the truth from her about how she'd crossed paths with the murderous thief.

"You could say that." Marguerite flashed him an impish grin. "He tried to . . . appropriate . . . some artifacts from the dig where I was working. He wasn't too happy when I appropriated them back."

Astounded that she was answering in so much detail, and intrigued by the story, he asked, "How did you get them back?" He held his breath, wondering if she would answer.

Her grin widened and she half turned to him, still not releasing his hand. "He had a younger associate who liked green eyes," she said mischievously, "But the boy couldn't hold his liquor."

John chuckled. "And you were how old?" he asked with raised brow, careful to show only his amusement, not his concern at this hint of early dangerous intrigue in her life.

"Oh, fifteen or so . . ." she shrugged. She leaned back against the wall and continued, a rueful smile playing about her lips. "I learned a lot on that trip to Cairo, not the least of which was never to leave all my finances in the hands of only one person. A close second was to always pay attention to local politics. Getting caught in the middle of a jihad is no party."

John's grip on her hand tightened reflexively. "You were caught in a jihad?!" He frowned, not liking the mental images of a fifteen year old girl in a mess like that.

She nodded, amused at his concern. "Relax, John. I obviously survived," she teased. "With my coloring, all it took was a little walnut juice, and I fit right in. I learned a good deal about archeology, mastered three languages, and found out how to use a knife during that little field trip, along with learning the more important life lessons, and still made it back in time for school to begin again." She looked down at their entwined hands, and reached over with her other hand to idly turn the ring John always wore on his left hand. More reflectively, she added, "Not everyone was so fortunate."

"Your teacher?" he asked softly.

She glanced back up, puzzled for a second until she remembered. "Oh, him? He had taken what he wanted and was long gone before the jihad broke out. So was our trophy hunting friend. Anyone with any experience left before the uprising. The rest of us either learned quickly or died."

"Was the teacher the one who handled your money?" he asked keenly. When Marguerite nodded he added, "Handsome, I suppose?"

"Yes, very. Quite a dashing older man, all of twenty-five already," she quipped with a grin and a bit of a twinkle in her thick-lashed eyes. "He was a very good . . . teacher."

Roxton couldn't help laughing at her sultry drawl, though he would have liked to get his hands on the lout. She'd been only fifteen! The man should have been shot! And then to leave her there! "I'm sure he was. And of course you went on this trip solely for the experience in archeology."

Marguerite's eyes danced with humor. "Of course. What else?" Then her smile faded, and after a brief hesitation she grimaced. "I've been thinking of the past quite a bit, lately," she said quietly, stepping away from the wall, letting go of Roxton's hand and turning to face the gems once again. She touched the stones, tracing the edges of the various pieces almost without conscious thought.

Roxton moved so he could see her face, leaning one shoulder on the wall beside her. "Yes?"

Pensively, she met his concerned green eyes, which seemed nearly brown in the odd lighting of the cavern, and then managed a tiny shrug and another rueful smile. "I wish I had met people like George, Ned, Veronica, Arthur . . . and you . . . when I was a child. Perhaps I wouldn't have made such a mess of my life."

It was probably one of the most candid things she had ever freely said to him.

Was this what had been preying on her mind this last little while, regrets and second thoughts about her life? He met her wistful green eyes, and smiled tenderly, immensely moved by her confession. "Well, you've met us now. And what are friends for, if not to help get us on track and stay there? I've walked on the wild side a bit myself - not out of necessity as you've had to, my dear, but purely out of foolishness and foolhardiness. It took friends and family to help me set my life to rights again. I couldn't have done it by myself. You're one of the ones who's helped me most."

"_Me?_"

He'd had her attention before, he knew, but now she turned to fully face him again, eyes wide and curious. "Yes, you," he assured her simply.

Reading the truth of it in his eyes, she smiled slowly.

"You know I was headed one way to a deliberately dangerous death, until I met you and the others and undertook the expedition," John said simply.

She remembered some of his actions early on, and recalled thinking back then that he almost seemed to have a death wish. Her brow puckered in troubled realization. Anxiously she asked, "Not any more, though, right?"

"Right. Not any more. Now I have a reason to live."

"Looking after all of us," she whispered.

"Yeah. Especially a certain very beautiful international jewel thief wanted on five continents, to whom I made the promise that I would always be around to keep her on the right track. Dirty job, and kind of challenging sometimes, but," he wagged a brow at her with a boyish grin. "Somebody's got to do it."

She managed a tremulous smile.

"You've got friends now, Marguerite. You're not alone. Right?"

She nodded slowly, her green eyes still pensive.

He cupped her cheek in his palm, and smiled down into her uncertain eyes. "As for not making a mess of your life . . . Well, all these things you learned because you had it so hard back then? If you hadn't known that life, could you have been Parsifal, the triple agent who saved so many lives during the war? Could you have matched wits with Tribune, charmed that leader in Paradise, faced down Centuria, seduced the giant, refused Askwith, and beaten the Ripper? Who would have gotten us out of Edgar's clutches? Who would have led the Travelers away to keep them from ambushing us?" He paused, then asked softly, "Who would have saved my life twice from ape men, and how many other times since?"

He moved his thumb gently to wipe away a single tear that trickled down her cheek. "You know what thought keeps me awake nights? If you had found that bloody Ouroboros sooner, then you might have been gone before we all got to know you, without ever truly becoming part of our little family. We'd have been weaker for losing your skills and courage, and you'd have faced Xan alone. Even if he'd given you the birth certificate, there's a good chance you still might not have found your parents or any other family. Then you would have been alone out there in the world, still facing the same kind of life you had before you came here."

Marguerite winced, not liking the picture he was painting for her.

"But instead," he continued, "You're here with us. We get to be your friends and your family. You're not alone, and we're stronger and better for having had the chance to get to know the _real _you, not just the persona created by your need to survive. I wouldn't have wanted to miss knowing you. You're one very special lady, Marguerite," John's admiration was clear in both his soft voice and his warm hazel-green eyes.

The slender beauty shook her head, wanting so badly to believe what he was saying, but not at all sure. "You can say that, after all the lies and deceit? All my selfishness and g-greed?"

Roxton nodded. "I know that you've been through things that make it hard for you to trust others, and that at times you've had to be ruthless and cold-hearted in order to survive, before, during and even since the war. But I look at you today, Marguerite, and see a woman who has consistently given up her own ease and profit every time the chips were down, for the benefit of others. Sometimes the ones you gave up things for weren't even friends. Remember that twirpy little king, what was his name - Gawain?" he teased, "And the kids in that village controlled by the guardian plant?"

"I had no choice but to help those children," she interrupted hastily, "because _you_ were all helping them!"

"Yeah, right!" he scoffed. "And is that also why you gave the outlaw lady your diamonds?"

She looked away, disconcerted. She hadn't realized anyone had seen her do that.

"We long ago stopped believing you when you said you'd done something that helped us just because it was in your best interests to keep the expedition members alive," he teased mildly.

She blushed a little.

"You may still be a little prickly at times, but we all trust you, Marguerite."

"You trust me?" she echoed, more than a little doubtfully.

"Sure." He grinned boyishly again and offered her a recent example. "Didn't I reach for your hand in the Ouroboros cave, putting my faith in you even though I was flaming mad at you?"

She shuddered as she remembered him hanging by his fingertips over that lava pit while she was trying to rescue him. "Yes, you did."

"Well, if that isn't trust, what is it?" he reasoned.

"It was desperation. You simply had no other option."

He cocked his head and frowned at her. "Marguerite."

"Okay, okay!" she held up a hand in a gesture of surrender and admitted, "Trust."

"Right," he grinned, pleased.

"I still have secrets."

"Yeah, so do all of us. Didn't our little experience with the iridium prove that?" he chuckled as he remembered how they had discovered that each of the members of Challenger's Expedition had been involved in the case of the missing iridium during the Great War. But the truth about it had only come out here, on the Plateau, under the bizarre circumstances of stumbling across the stranded transport plane's insane pilot. "Besides, didn't I tell you that your secrets would be safe with me, when you're ready to share them?" he asked tenderly.

"Yes."

"Well, then, there you have it. You're no different than the rest of us, except that you've lived a rather more dangerous life getting to this point, and have had further to go than any of the rest of us in learning to relate as a family." He beamed at her, as if his explanation made it all simple. "Give it time, my dear. You're doing just fine, you know."

She searched his face, chewing on her lower lip anxiously. "Are you sure about that, John?"

"Absolutely positive. You know I'd tell you if you weren't," he chided mildly. "Haven't I done it in the past? Isn't it my job, to keep you on the right path?"

That made her smile a little again. "Yes, that's your job."

Hah! That was the first time she had admitted that! John's lopsided grin widened. "Alright then. Next time you have doubts about how you're doing and whether you fit in with our little family, just come to me, okay? You know you can trust me to always tell you the truth."

She cocked her head at him. "Always?" there was a sudden touch of mischief in her green eyes.

"What?" he asked warily.

"Did you eat the cookies I made for you, or did you just throw them away?"

He gulped, fairly caught and knowing it. "Er, well, um… I ate one. It was the most I could stomach, Marguerite, honest! But I really appreciated the effort you put into making them!" he added quickly and fervently. "It meant a lot to me that you wanted to please me so much."

To his relief, the mercurial woman chose to be amused rather than angry. "I thought as much," she nodded smugly. Then she rose up on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you for telling me the truth, John."

He gave her a sheepish grin. "Thank you for not belting me."

She chuckled, then asked reluctantly, "I guess we should get back to figuring out what's going on here, shouldn't we?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so," he admitted.

Marguerite sighed, slid her hand into his again, and turned to the wall.

"Marguerite?"

"Yes?" She was already focused on her task again.

"Not that I mind, or anything, because I don't mind at all - in fact, I really like it - but why are you holding my hand while you do this?"

She glanced back down over her shoulder at their clasped hands, and then met his eyes. Softly, she said, "Partly it's because I like it, too. Mostly it's because . . . I don't want you to disappear while I'm not looking." So many strange things happened in caves on the plateau . . .

Roxton nodded slowly. "Okay. No disappearing. Got it."

She smiled, relieved that he hadn't laughed, and went back to checking the wall. A few minutes later, she began to hum to herself as she worked her hand across the gems.

John smiled as he listened to the off-key, slightly skewed version of Moonlight Sonata. She was back! His girl was back, crazy singing and all! He watched her, between scanning the cavern for anomalies, and listened to her melody-making with only occasional winces at her efforts.

After about an hour, she stopped her efforts so she could wearily roll her shoulders, trying to work out the kinks caused by her constant reaching upwards on the walls. John slung his rifle over his shoulders and stepped behind her, firmly massaging her shoulders and back. "Any progress?" he asked simply.

"Yes and no," she sighed. "This is definitely a created thing. All these facets are cut. And I think I'm beginning to see a pattern. It's kind of niggling at the edge of my mind, just out of reach, but it's there." She closed her eyes and tried to relax.

"Is that the good news or the bad news?" he queried.

"Both. I know it's there, John, but I can't seem to get hold of it." Marguerite wasn't used to having so much trouble solving riddles like this, and she shook her head in frustration.

"Come here." He drew her back, into the center of the cavern, and sat down on the floor, pulling her down to sit across his lap. "Now, just take a break, Marguerite." He smoothed her hair and gently rubbed her back as she curled close with a much happier sigh than her earlier one.

"A girl could get used to this, Lord Roxton," she purred contentedly, smiling up into his eyes, which were darkening with emotions stirred by her closeness.

"It's not hard to get used to from my side of things, either," he grinned, keeping his tone light.

"That's a relief. I'd hate to think this was onerous for you," his lady love retorted wryly. "It wouldn't be half so nice. Thank you, John."

"Well, I have to do something to contribute here. This doesn't seem to be a situation where brawn can do much, besides waiting for the brains to figure it out. Me being the brawn, and you being the brains, of course!" He flexed an arm as if showing off his muscles, grinning.

"Nothing like a little pressure, hmm?"

He chuckled. "You work well under pressure, my love. I've seen you do it time after time."

Marguerite smiled up at him once more, then nestled closer. "Why are we in such a hurry to leave? I kind of like it here." She smothered a yawn.

"Well, it'll be fine until we run out of water and food."

She made a face. "Oh, you would have to point out minor details."

Roxton grinned. "Why don't you try a little nap? You may do better, coming at it fresh."

"What, right here? Are you going to hold me while I sleep?" She gestured at her current position.

"If you'd like." He raised his brows, daring her to accept.

She took her pistol from its holster and handed it to the puzzled hunter. "It'll be much easier to get this into action, rather than your rifle, if you've got me on your lap."

He was startled into a bark of laughter. "Very practical!"

"I thought so." She leaned into his chest, nestling her head in the crook of his shoulder and neck, and deliberately relaxed. Her eyes closed, and she was asleep in moments.

A little taken aback that she'd accepted and followed through, he wondered if he should take this as a sign of her trust in him, or if he should consider it a result of how little rest they'd had last night. Well, regardless, it was an all-too-rare opportunity to hold her, and he would take any chance he could to affirm any trust she placed in him, for whatever reason. He found himself smiling as he watched over her.

Marguerite had been asleep for about forty minutes when she suddenly awakened, springing abruptly from his lap with a shout of excitement. "That's it!"

John, who ended up sprawled on his back from the force of her exodus from his arms, glared up at her. "That's what?" he growled, reaching for his tumbled hat as he moved to get to his feet.

"The pattern! I don't know why I didn't see it before! Look, it's there - there - there - See?" She pointed, fingers tracing patterns in the air, following the ones she saw on the wall. "It's in the arrangement of the colors, combinations! It's the colors! It's a language, John!"

He shook his head, gathering her handgun and his rifle, watching her in bemusement as she moved swiftly along the wall now, apparently reading the color language. Her eyes were aflame with the excitement of discovering the key, her cheeks still flushed pink from her nap, whole body vibrant with her thrilled anticipation.

"Yes! Yes! It's all here!"

Whoa! She was a living, breathing dynamo! She hadn't seemed this excited even when they had first seen the Ouroboros!

Marguerite didn't even notice when he tucked her pistol into the holster at her waist and plunked her hat back onto her head, she was so absorbed in reading the cavern's message. "When we came up the passage, we triggered a safeguard to protect this place. Apparently, at some point in the past - it's not clear how long ago, from this - this type of butterfly was considered a delicacy, and they were nearly wiped out by hunters. So . . . whoever they were, these . . . conservationists, for want of a better word in English . . . built this gem dome to protect the migration point and allow the butterfly population to rebuild. It's a memorial . . . a . . . history . . . I can't quite tell . . . So this is a passage for the migration of this species of butterflies, from wherever it is they come from, to the Plateau. They come here to reproduce once every year, and then go back where they came from."

"Does it say where they come from?" John asked, wondering if there was any way they could use this to get off the Plateau, to a more accessible place from which to get home.

"Some island . . . South Pacific, if I'm understanding it correctly," she answered absently, running her hand along a portion of the jewels. "It seems these gem stones were crafted and placed so that the vibrations of the butterfly wings open a passage for their arrival and departure." She looked up to the apex of the ceiling, where there was a square of jewels that were an odd blue-green color. "It's opens up there."

"Interesting." And completely useless for their purposes, if only butterfly wing vibrations could open it. "Is there any more information about this triggered safeguard that's keeping us in here?"

"What? Oh . . ." Marguerite turned slowly, eyes moving over the walls with purpose now. She stopped when her gaze settled on the wall over the doorway to the passage they had come through. "Well, that makes sense. It's right over the exit."

"Of course," John grinned at her tone of disgust with herself.

She frowned. "I can't quite figure out how we tripped it . . . no . . . it just doesn't really say how the safeguard works, or what triggers it. It just says that once it is triggered, whoever gets stuck here has to wait till the butterflies have passed safely beyond before the passage can be unlocked."

"We should be good to go, then, since the butterflies are gone."

She caught his arm as she read on. "John, it's not hard at all!" she declared in excitement.

"Good. What do we have to do?"

He followed her to the entrance and watched as she touched a series of different gems in a prescribed sequence, glancing up now and then to confirm her next move.

The light in the cavern seemed to dim suddenly. "That should be it," she breathed.

"Okay. Let's take a walk and see what happens."

Marguerite reached for his hand, nodding. "Ready when you are - you are going first, aren't you, John?"

"Sure." He gave her cheek a gentle caress, seeing the sudden doubt in her eyes again.

They went through the opening and turned the corner, starting down the incline. Roxton paused to pull the torch out of his backpack and re-light it as the brightness faded behind them and it grew too dark to see their way.

"This is a good sign," Marguerite said hopefully. "Last couple times we didn't really need the torch, did we? Because the light stayed with us almost all the time?"

"You're right." He resumed the journey downward, holding the torch up carefully as he moved.

"We'd be going up by now if it weren't working, wouldn't we?" she asked from right behind him, breathlessly, a minute later.

"I think so, yes," he said patiently.

"How long did it take us to get up when we first got here?"

"I wasn't keeping track, Marguerite."

"You weren't?"

"No, I wasn't. I was busy trying to squeeze through, remember?"

"Right. Sorry."

Another moment, then "Do you see anything yet?"

"No, Marguerite."

"Maybe it didn't work. Maybe I missed something? Maybe we should go back, and I should read it again?" she worried.

"Marguerite, if it didn't work, we'll end up back there," he reminded her with a sigh. Had he really missed her chatter in the last couple weeks? Marguerite was beginning to remind him of times he could remember driving his parents crazy on the journey to their country estate from London each year, with his constant questions about how close they were to their destination.

"Right." At her subdued word he realized he had revealed his exasperation. Marguerite was letting go of his hand, withdrawing.

Quickly, he tightened his hold on her hand, stopping their progress down the passage and turning to look at her. She wouldn't meet his eyes until he tilted her chin up gently with two fingers, still keeping hold of her hand with his other fingers. "I'm sorry, Marguerite. Ask me as many questions as you like, okay? Just don't be frightened. We're getting out. We're going home. Challenger, Veronica and Finn are waiting for us, and maybe even Ned by now."

"Our family," she whispered with a pretty good attempt at a smile.

"Yes. Our family. You okay?"

She nodded.

"All right, then. Shouldn't be much further. Hold tight, now." He favored her with a reassuring smile and started on again.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for putting up with me."

"My pleasure."

"Liar!"

He chuckled. And stepped out into the wider main passage they had begun in hours before.

Marguerite joined him, and released a shaky breath of relief.

"See, I told you," he grinned down at her. "Ready to go home now?"

"Definitely!"

They set out, side by side this time, along the passage. When they reached the actual entrance to the cave and looked out into the jungle, they exchanged gleeful hugs.

"We'll have to camp here tonight; it's too late to make it home today. But we'll get a fresh start bright and early tomorrow. We can be home just after lunch. Unless you'd like to explore another one of these caves?" he quirked a brow at the tired lady leaning into his embrace.

"No, I don't think I want to explore any more caves just now, thank you," she replied primly. "Home sounds very good to me."

"Me, too. But I can't say I mind having one last night with you before we head back. Maybe we can finish what we started last night, before that nasty little cloud of insects forced us into that stream."

Marguerite smiled. "That would be heavenly."

His face lit up at her agreement, and he hastened them back to the site of their camp. Everything was just as they had left it this morning.

John lit the already-laid campfire and got out the makings for dinner. Marguerite went down to the stream to refill the canteens and to freshen up. He kept an eye on her from the fireside. He'd always loved to watch her as she laved off the dust of the day in a stream or pond . . . She did so love to bathe! He couldn't really complain, because it meant she almost always smelled of lavender, or some kind of fresh flowers. She seemed to have a nearly inexhaustible supply of flowery soaps.

Dusk was falling by the time she came up from the stream with the canteens, smiling happily at being clean and wearing fresh clothing. Dinner was almost ready, and at a point where she couldn't do anything that might spoil it, so Roxton took the opportunity to go down to the stream for a bath of his own. He groaned again as he removed his pants, remembering the ruin of his last whole pair of trousers as he snagged his signet ring on the torn spot Marguerite had basted earlier.

Then he heard Marguerite singing happily back at the camp site.

He turned and watched her as she was turning the food on the spit over the fire. Then she sat down beside the fire and began to brush out her long dark curls, still singing to herself as she waited for Roxton to return. She was so beautiful . . . and there was no sign of the heartache that had haunted her these last weeks.

It had been worth it. Even if it had been his last pair of undamaged pants. He dropped the garment to the ground, alongside the filthy shirt, and hurried with his bathing.

They enjoyed their meal at a leisurely pace, exchanging lingering looks of anticipation, talking softly about their impressions of the day. They cleaned up together, amicably, and then settled into their blankets, side by side, to watch the stars come out.

"It's so beautiful and peaceful," Marguerite marveled. "You never see stars like this in the city."

"No," he agreed, watching her, not the stars. "Too many lights."

"Tell me their names again," she invited coyly, giving him the excuse he was looking for.

He scooted closer and slid one arm beneath her head, leaning close so he could point out the constellations more easily.

Marguerite played along. She pretended not to notice when his lips brushed her cheek as he named the stars of the Big Dipper, pointing them out one by one. She couldn't help smiling, but managed to keep her composure as he whispered the names of the stars that made up the Hunter constellation, his lips over hers, not even bothering to point at these stars. . . and she was breathlessly ready when his lips finally descended to cover her own.

"I told you I smelled wood smoke!"

Roxton's head jerked up in disbelief. He stared into Marguerite's equally dismayed eyes.

Challenger?!

_Here?!_

"Well, I told you we were headed in the same direction as those caves Roxton and Marguerite were going to be at," replied Finn's voice, nearer than Challenger's had been.

"Will you two be quiet? It might not be them!" Veronica hissed in obvious frustration. "I can't believe I let you talk me into this, George!"

"The only way to find them is to keep as close to where we saw them as possible, Veronica," Challenger answered defensively. "And they definitely came this way!"

Their voices were definitely coming nearer.

With a groan, John moved away from Marguerite. He pulled his own bedroll to a respectable distance from hers, and growled curses under his breath.

Marguerite sat up, straightened her blouse, then looped her arms about her knees and looked in the direction from which the voices had been coming.

Sure enough, the other three residents of the treehouse emerged from the jungle. Veronica, in the lead, was scowling. Challenger was right behind her, with the expression of intense excitement that he always got when he was hot on the trail of a scientific breakthrough. And Finn brought up the rear.

"See, here they are," Finn said triumphantly, pointing needlessly at the couple now seated on their blankets several feet apart from one another on either side of the campfire in the midst of the little glen.

"Good! Fire's still hot! We can make a bit of dinner before we get some sleep. I'm so glad we found you two," George Challenger greeted the hunter and the heiress cheerfully, dropping his back pack to the ground by the fire, and opening it to take out the makings for a meal.

Finn dropped her own pack on Marguerite's far side, and sat down tiredly. "We've been hiking forever! I was beginning to think he was going to make us hike all night! Is he always like this?"

"Yes," Marguerite and Veronica both responded dryly in unison.

"George, Finn," Roxton nodded greetings to their friends, then added critically, "Veronica, we could hear you coming for far too long."

The blonde rolled her eyes, dropping to the ground to sit cross-legged between Marguerite and Roxton. "He's all wound up. You won't believe what he's got us following!" She ran a harassed hand through her already tumbled hair, and gave Roxton a long-suffering look that told her favorite hunting partner what a handful the scientist had been for her today.

"Challenger claims he saw a species of butterfly that only lives on some island in the South Pacific. I've seen them here on the Plateau every year of my life, and Finn's seen them here in the future, too. But Challenger is convinced that they're migrating and he insisted that we had to follow them. He thinks they'll lead him to a way off the Plateau if we find can their route-"

Roxton and Marguerite had been exchanging startled looks that changed to dawning dismay as Veronica continued. But at the idea of the others going into that cavern, and possibly triggering the safeguard device again, they both shouted, "_No!_"

At their simultaneous yell of protest, the other three stilled and stared at them.

The dark haired couple exchanged another look, this one horrified as they both imagined having to build ladders to reach the ceiling door, and then enduring the process of Challenger's efforts at inventing some kind of machine that would simulate the vibrations of butterflies' wings - ultimately having to face that blasted cavern again time after time, probably only to find that the opening was only large enough for a butterfly?!

Marguerite and Roxton looked at Challenger, noting the glare they were getting as he realized they were objecting to his plans. He really didn't like having his scientific quests stymied.

The hunter looked over at his lady, but she shook her head, refusing to take on this discussion. She gestured John to go ahead and explain, sitting back and preparing to be entertained by the upcoming battle of wills.

Lord John Roxton nodded, cleared his throat, summoned his best Peer of the Realm posture - he needed all the authority he could muster to face George Challenger down over this - then braced himself to address the determined scientist and their startled friends.

"Believe me, George, you do _not_ want to follow those butterflies!"

***************


End file.
